Driving lines lose delicate balance in the swirl of oncoming, uncommon reason. To pull the ripcord isn’t even an option, as the blood and bone of this velocity would rip from weak flesh if momentum ceased. Yet, yes. Flirting with that is the point. Now speed really matters, the highlight chill of error and the small adjustments thwarting chaos walk over the spine like dancing spiders. Let them find their trembling rhythm. Live! Dream a little nightmare! It’s simple action, crimson pools growing under chunks of once animate and loving friends that dove headlong into their despair, greeting the bliss of eternity’s suffocating embrace with arms open and eyes wide; splendid greedy notions for rememberance clouding the simpler act of making new memories. Brick by brick, laugh by laugh, hug and kiss, answers and questions amassing into great walls of comraderie, crumbling under the low earthquake of shuddering, desperate need. It’s for all those things on the journey: love, care, satisfaction, salvation, innuendo and truth. All withered leaves on a sick tree in Autumn, crooked now in it’s yearning for sun in a dark canopy of others’ better efforts, awaiting the shell shock of a horrific season and forgetting that it’s all endless cycle – that Spring and Summer’s return is inevitable – but instead only knowing the stolen dim illumination and bent perspective of each day as a skipping record. The needle jumps, and up comes the sun, an unforgivable stretch of hours leading to tear-streaked slumber, and then waking again. The pace had to quicken, the pattern interrupted by the sheer force of escape. Throttle up. Sick delicious high wind onto the still fabric of twilight with rabid intention. Belt off and spin into that new void with uncontrollable surety. It’s so black here that the promise of light exists only in the ultimate night. May there be stars. May there be a forever.
(at Infinity 5)